


A Song in His Heart

by GillO



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6037483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillO/pseuds/GillO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The evening after OMWF, Spike is feeling quite cheerful. No self-delusion there. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song in His Heart

Back in the crypt the string orchestra finally stopped playing and it looked as if the whole ridiculous thing was finally over. No invisible marching band outside either, and no rock guitar downstairs in his sleeping lair.

Just as well it was finished and nobody he gave a shit about hurt. Weird that builder boy had caused it, but no hope at all that he’d lose even a smidgeon of his smug self-righteousness, or that Demon Girl would shut up about their retro song. Who bloody cared, now it was over? Something was up between the witchlets, even he could tell that. And the stuffy librarian was looking even more strained than usual.

So, a good result all round. Nobody hurt, everybody sad. Except him. And his Slayer.

OK, yes, she was sad, in a whole ripped-out-of-heaven sort of way. But nothing that was Spike’s fault, not this time. That was good, very good, right? You could even say he'd saved her life, in a non-heroic sort of way he was absolutely going to make a big deal out of, even so. More kisses, for a starter. A bloke deserved a reward, after all.

He paused to dwell on the taste of her lips, the touch of her hands holding him to her, the feel of her warm body pressed against his cold one. Oh yes. A feller could unlive on that for a very long while. The thought of more? Icing on a particularly delicious cake.

He hadn’t sung a drippy love song either – no stupid serenades of the sort that pillock William would have written. No Victorian arias or lieder of the sort his Mum had had him taught to sing, and, thank all the powers, no bloody Gilbert and Sullivan. OK, he’d asked her to piss off out of it if she didn’t want him, but it could have been much, much worse. She joined him of her own accord and sang to him as she kissed him, which was proof she really wanted him, right?

In all the demon-induced frenzy and hilarity, he’d come out ahead. His girl had kissed him, willingly, under no spell, and not as a reward or thanks. Things could only get better from here on in.

Humming a jaunty ditty, he turned in to bed. Tuned in to life with his girl, you might even say.


End file.
